Tingle All the Way

Tingle All The Way

Mackenzie McKade

Can Christmas magic be found with the help
of one very irritating little wood faery?

High-profile attorney Kayla Jones thinks
she just might be losing her mind when Hector, a mischievous wood faery,
appears before her. Are the martinis to blame? Or has her loneliness pushed her
over the edge? And if her subconscious must create an imaginary man for the
holidays, why can’t it be the good-looking prosecutor who visits her nightly
dreams?

When Barry Allred offers to take Kayla home
from the bar, he doesn’t expect her to pass out in his arms, leaving him no
alternative except to take her to
his
home. But more surprises await…

When the beauty awakens the next morning,
she’s under the impression that they not only had sex, but that she
inadvertently revealed to him her deepest, darkest BDSM and ménage fantasies.
He can’t figure out how she came to this misunderstanding…but he’s definitely
the man to make all her fantasies come true.

Chapter One

A nervous giggle burst from Kayla Jones’
pinched mouth. A three-inch man was balancing atop the rim of her glass as if
he stood on a tightrope. She wasn’t sure if she was certifiably insane or she’d
had one too many martinis. Fortunately, dim lights and a corner booth in the
back of O’Malley’s Pub made the little spectacle hers alone to view.

A misstep and his body swayed, his arms
flailing, releasing the scent of pine and something earthy, possibly
fresh-turned soil. When the rugged-looking mirage regained his equilibrium, he
proudly swiped his hand before him and dipped at the waist, bowing low.

Oh, thank God. If he had fallen in her
drink, the toothpick speared through a green olive would have stabbed the
little fellow right in the ass. That’s all she needed—shish-kebabbed faery.

Faery?

“This is ridiculousss.” For heaven’s sakes,
she was an attorney, a logical woman. Well, up until now. “Am I so pitiful I
have to conjure an invisible playmate?”

And she couldn’t even do that right.

Instead of the dark-haired prosecutor she
dreamed of every night, the one that made her tingle inside every time she saw
him, she stared at a faery with dark skin, translucent wings, tights and a vest
made from tree bark. If she had to wager a guess, she would have to use a
microscope to see his penis.

No. This little guy didn’t exactly have the
makings of a wet dream.

With a huff of self-disgust, she glanced
around the bar. Laughter resounded. Glasses held high toasted the coming of
Christmas only two days away.

And to make matters worse, her nightly
dream man sat at the bar sipping a beer. Barry Allred. Alongside him on a stool
sat another gorgeous man, but where Barry had dark hair, the other was blond.
Pity she couldn’t be wedged between them.

A sound brought her attention back to the
scarred wooden table where a live, two-feet-high Christmas tree decorated with
colorful bulbs and battery-operated lights twinkled softly. She released a
heavy sigh. Why had she brought the thing into the bar? Maybe because it was
the only gift she’d receive this holiday. The tree was from Joan, who gave it
to her when she discovered Kayla didn’t have a
real
Christmas tree at
home. The light scent of pine rose above the blend of cigarette smoke, liquor
and an assortment of perfumes and cologne.

Kayla didn’t dare tell Joan she was
spending the holidays alone. Her administrative assistant was a fixer-upper. In
a heartbeat, an invitation to join her and Timothy, her new husband, would be
on Kayla’s desk.

No. She wouldn’t do that to the newlyweds.

The tender moments she had glimpsed between
the couple at the office had only made the heavy sensation in Kayla’s chest
deepen, exposing her own vulnerability—her own need to be wanted,
loved—especially during the holidays.

“Bah humbug,” Kayla mumbled before pinning
a scowl on the imaginary faery gliding around her glass as if he were
ice-skating. Drawing to a halt, he returned her sour expression with a
teeny-tiny grin that was all teeth.

Through tired, bloodshot eyes she took
another fuzzy look, narrowed her gaze and then pulled a face. “I don’t need
anyone.”

The apparition raised a brow as if he
secretly knew she was lying.

Her position as a high-profile attorney
didn’t allow room for a personal life. Not to mention, professional women
tended to be too much to handle for the average Joe. It probably didn’t help
that she was five-ten and a mean kickboxer.

She could literally kick most any man’s ass
inside and outside of court.

A disgruntled puff of air escaped her and
blew back a lock of hair that had dared to come free from her tightly wound bun
and fall before her eyes. When the golden strand returned to its annoying
place, she mumbled, “Yeah, yeah. That old adage that blondes have more fun is
wrong—dead wrong.”

Then again it had been a successful day.
“That went straight to hell,” she added to herself. Kayla had won her
white-collar case in court. “The Ice Queen always wins.” She chuckled at the
name her officemates gave her. But the truth was, it hurt.

Kayla hiccupped. Her elbow slipped off the
table and she jerked, righting herself.

“If I’m ssso damn successful,” she slurred,
“why am I here at O’Malley’s drowning my sorrows in enough gin and vermouth to
sink a battleship?” She directed her question to the faery.

He shrugged, raising his wings and
stretching them wide. A whiff of dark green faery dust fell from their folds.

“Exactly.” She leaned forward and widened
her eyes. “Like you would know the answer.” Her imaginary friend might not, but
she did. It was due to the comments she overheard when she stopped before the
door of the break room. She closed her eyes remembering the cruel things her
colleagues had said.

Dan Sutter, a junior lawyer, leaned
against the doorjamb. “The Ice Queen won again.”

“Heard that.” Tom Davis from Finance
slurped his coffee.

“Too bad she never takes that stick out
of her ass.” Dan chuckled.

Tom joined him. A couple more jokes
followed about her bottom half and what they’d like to do to it.

“She’d probably freeze your dick off,”
Dan teased.

Crushed, Kayla had turned and walked
away, the mood for coffee lost somewhere between wanting to do Dan and Tom
physical harm and hauling their asses to Personnel.

But what good would it do?

The good ol’ boys’ network was alive and
well at Buckman and Chase.

And then, as if it couldn’t get any
worse, she’d dropped in the chair behind her desk just as Joan had waltzed in.

“Ready for the Christmas party?”

Oh, hell no.

One look at Dan and Tom and she’d
probably bitch-slap the bastards. And the last place she wanted to spend
Christmas was behind bars or before a judge defending herself. Of course that
was one way to avoid spending the holidays alone.

With a couple of commands, Kayla had
shut down her computer. “I’m meeting a client later tonight.” A bald-faced lie.
With a push of a finger and a yank, she’d dislodged her laptop. “I won’t have
time for the party, but tell everyone Merry Christmas.” After cramming the
computer into her satchel, she knew she had to get out of there.

“But it’s a time to spend with friends
and family,” Joan argued.

Kayla gave her administrative assistant
a sincere hug. Before the woman could say anything else, she hauled her ass to
O’Malley’s, opting to get shit-faced, alone.

So here she sat. But she wasn’t exactly
alone.

Eyelids rising, moisture clouded her vision
as she stared at her apparition. “I have no one.”

Pity parties were usually a waste of time,
but there was something about alcohol that made her forget herself. So what if
her parents had abandoned her at an early age? An elderly aunt had raised her,
giving Kayla what she could financially and emotionally, although something had
been missing. Then two years ago her aunt had passed away, leaving Kayla
thoroughly alone.

She was always alone these days.

Well, if she didn’t count her newly
acquired friend. Small legs crossed at the ankle, feet clad in slippers
sharpened to roach-killer points gave a little kick, drawing her attention.

The only thing Kayla had now was
determination and a level head. Scholarships had put her through Berkeley. Hard
work and long hours had done the rest.

So she didn’t have a life outside of work.

When Kayla was younger she told herself
there would be plenty of time later for a husband and family, but later never
came. There was always just too much to do. Now she was pushing thirty, and any
hopes of marriage and children were slipping as fast as time marched across her
face.

“Well, screw it,” she mumbled, talking to
the faery before her. Who, she added to herself, didn’t exist.

Staring at him, she blinked hard.

Damn, if the finger-size fellow didn’t look
real. She cocked her head. Not a bad-looking sort if you liked the rugged type.
Of course, she did have that beer-goggles phenomenon going on, or would it be
martini goggles in this case? Hadn’t she read that alcohol stimulated the part
of the human brain used to determine facial attractiveness, the nucleus
accumbens? Or had it been so long since she actually slept with a man that even
a three-inch imaginary one looked good come closing time?

Remembering her prior thought about his
microscopic penis, she snorted, laughing out loud.

One thing she knew for sure, the dark-brown
tights and pointed slippers had to go. As well as the bark vest embroidered
with wilted leaves and vines.

What the hell was he shooting for—the
destitute elf look?

As she leaned closer for a better view, his
chest puffed up, a cocky grin sliding across his face. Bright white teeth
sparkled against his Latino skin tone.

“
¿Cómo te llamas?
” she slurred.
“What’s your name” was practically the only Spanish she remembered from
school—that and a few other worthless sentences. The firm of Buckman and Chase
provided her with an interpreter when she needed one.

“Hector,” he replied. His mischievous grin
deepened.

“Holy shit! Now I’m not only seeing things,
but I’m hearing things too.”

He chuckled softly.

Well, enough was enough. The only thing
stopping her from drinking the remaining contents of her glass was her
imagination. And he hadn’t been invited to her pity party.

With a flick of her fingers, she sent the
faery into the air.

“Hey,” he gasped, flailing his tiny arms
and legs. His wings appeared at blurring speed. A stream of red faery dust
trailed him, exploding into a cloud as he hit the back of the seat across the
table and then slithered down and out of sight.

As he rose into the air, brushing off his
backside, he glared at her. “Oh, baby, you’ll pay for that one.” Then he drove
straight for her Christmas tree and vanished inside.

Kayla picked up the martini glass and down
the remaining liquid. “Time to go home.”

The back of her bare legs stuck to the
vinyl seat. With a rather uncomfortable tug, she slid out of the booth, stood,
and eased her skirt down to its mid-thigh length. When she leaned down to pick
up her briefcase, she stumbled and nearly fell.

Male laughter came from the Christmas tree.
A smug look appeared on Hector’s face as he peeked out from between the
branches.

In a huff, she narrowed her eyes on the
specter. “Shut up, you-you…
faery
.” Big or small, men could be
irritating. “You’re not going to ruin my evening.” With a teetering step, she
spun around and walked away, weaving through the crowd, aiming for the
bright-red exit sign.

From across the room, Barry watched the Ice
Queen rise. Her curvy body swayed. Was she drunk? Who would have guessed that
the prim and proper lawyer lady would be celebrating her win alone in a pub?
Her skirt rose higher up her long, delectable legs as she reached to retrieve
her briefcase. Balance off, she slipped.

He jumped up from his barstool, stopping as
she grasped the table.

“You okay, Barry?” Stan Keller’s gaze
followed Barry’s as Miss Jones steadied herself. “Nice.” Male appreciation was
clear in his friend’s voice.

“I know.” Barry released a discouraged
breath. “For a moment I thought I’d actually get the opportunity to hold her in
my arms, even if only to pick her ass up off the floor.”

“Oh.” A note of interest rose as Stan
pushed out of his chair. “Who is she?”

“An attorney for Buckman and Chase. Not
only is she good-looking, she’s intelligent and knows her way around a
courtroom.”

Would she also know her way around a man’s
body?

“Guys at her office call her the Ice
Queen,” Barry continued. Her chill had always left him in an aroused state.
Maybe the adage about wanting something you couldn’t have referred to him in
this case, because this woman outclassed him to where it wasn’t funny.

“Hmmm…”

Barry knew what Stan’s
hmmm
meant.

Game time.

They had fought over and shared many women.
It was a competition they’d played since college. But more recently his
position, as well as Stan’s as a broker, had led them down different paths.

“She’s out of our league, buddy. Kayla
Jones is a look-don’t-touch kind of woman. In fact, she kicked my ass today in
court.”

If Barry were an insecure man, he might
have let it affect his ego. Instead he admired her. She was a damn good
attorney and the kind of woman that made a man long to control, especially in
the bedroom.

Just the thought of having her bending to
his desires, serving his lustful needs, sent his blood pressure skyrocketing.
When his cock jerked in agreement, he had to admit that maybe it wasn’t his
blood pressure that rose to the occasion. Hell. Barry was always in an aroused
state when he was around her. Even the starched, conservative business suits
she wore couldn’t hide her femininity. Many nights he lay in his bed and
mentally peeled one layer and then the next from her tall, statuesque frame.